"Do you think that's how things are?"

"I don't know."

She glanced over his shoulder into a crimson curtain which looked almost like velvet from a distance, but without a glimmer to convince her. A waiter leant over the table directly in front of the window, contrasting the curtain with an undoubtedly black jacket. He poured what looked like a chardonnay into a middle-aged woman's glass, smiling politely while she sat back and did her best to look as though she barely noticed him.

"I think that we can change a few things if we really want to". He tipped the glass, took a slow sip, then pursed his lips to clean them as he put it down. "Only, the definition of 'a few' isn't always accepted."

She smiled. As she crossed her legs, the tip of one toe brushed his leg. He didn't flinch, even as she stared straight into his eyes without blinking.

With her glass raised to her lips, she hesitated. "Would you change things, if you could?"

"Only some things."

"And the others?"

He smiled. "Some things I wouldn't have a reason in the world to change."

I yearn for something I'm utterly convinced exists.

I yearn for a knowing smile, a private glance.

I yearn for a neck to nuzzle up to, to tell of every little delight.
In return I yearn for being a shoulder to snuggle up to, to listen to every little problem.

I yearn for sharing ability, for accomplishing more than I could alone.
In return I yearn for relishing another's achievement.

I yearn for a warm body to hold, not because it's cold, but because warmth gives life.
In return I yearn for giving safety through my warmth.

I yearn for caressing a sleeping tuft of hair, to indulge in its scent.
In return I yearn for being an object of affection.

I yearn to whisper a proposition.
In return I yearn for tacitly accepting one whispered to me.

I yearn to wake up to a smile, to smile in return, to know that that's exactly how things are supposed to be.

Most importantly, I yearn to be sure that yearning is not all there is to it.

Have you ever had a story in your head that you wanted to share? A story you were convinced was worth telling, without having to ever rationalise it to anyone? I have. Which is why, after plenty of consideration, I've decided to tell it; to whoever is interested in listening.

There's a twist, however: This story is going to be told in bits, unfolded over time to form the hopefully comprehensible whole I have in mind. Every week, I'm going to publish what I'm going to refer to as a "slice", a little snippet around a page or two in length. Don't ask me how many of these there are going to be - I can't tell you, because I don't know. What I can tell you is that what I want to bring across can't be done justice in just a few pages.

There will be no synopsis, no blurb intended to generate sales. This is a story in what I hope will be its purest form, written for no target market, edited by no one for suitability and appropriateness, sculpted and structured without the luxury of hindsight. I will not have the advantage of polishing and changing after re-consideration as traditional writers do. Once something has been read, it's cast in the reader's mind, whether their mind is stone or not. Rather, I should say whether your mind is stone or not.

Enough explanations.

This is the story.

Update: The first slice of the story starts here (the home link above will always show the very latest slice).

He rolled over and nuzzled his nose into her hair. It smelled sweetly like cinnamon apple oats, the kind he'd eaten most mornings of his childhood life, that his mother had put down in front of him while his eyelids were still heavy from the night before. That first spoonful gave him a feeling that said "the day has started, everything's going to be OK". He remembered how he still tasted the oats on his way to school, even after the orange juice had shuffled around in his mouth.

Now, as he breathed into the nape of her neck and wrapped his arm lazily around her waist, he felt the same thing.

As she felt his hand on her belly, she turned around to face him, her nose replacing her neck as it touched his so lightly that it felt like she had a dew drop on the tip of it, rather than another person.

"Hi."

The corners of her mouth lifted upwards so slightly that she wondered whether she actually smiled as she said this, but it didn't really matter. Running a fingertip upwards from his neck over the stubble on his jaw, tracing a line over his lips, she realised that she had to be smiling; because he was.

"So, would you like your coffee?"

"You know the answer to that." Now, she had no doubt anymore about what the corners of her mouth were doing. As she opened her eyes, he brushed his nose past hers without hesitation. Kissing her softly, he ran two fingers up her spine so lightly that she felt like leaves were rustling somewhere in the distance.

He got up, and as he walked across the expanse of the loft towards the kitchen, he turned around. As he stood in the sunlight casting a confident shadow on the wall behind him, he looked at her with certainty in his eyes. "You know what? Everything is going to be just fine".

Earlier today, I read about doom and gloom. Not the apocalyptic kind, but the kind that has the potential to send shivers down your spine once you realise that its description is far from exaggerated.

I read this.

To which my response is this:

My fellow South African, I feel implored to ask for your attention for as long as you can spare it. I ask for it not because I have delusions of grandeur about the importance of what I am about to share with you, but because I know that, like me, you're a human being who has the ability to perceive, to understand, to react. This is all I know about you, but it is enough.

Our country is, at this moment, in a state of flux as it has never been. Even though change is undeniable and will always occur, I believe that the current potential for change, whether a lack of it, or an acceleration of it in a certain direction, is unprecedented. We are about to bring about a major move in a direction which is - like the needle on a shaking compass - precariously uncertain, and balanced on a wafer thin edge. I wish I could dismiss my own diagnosis of this state as dramatic and over reactive, but I cannot with a reasonable mind do so.

As a South African, I cannot deny what is wrong with this country. I cannot deny or ignore the daily events which imprint in the minds of the few fortunate enough to be perceptive, a negativity of thought which I personally believe is increasing, rather than decreasing. I cannot deny this, as much as I want to. Wishing away negativity does not work, as much as wishing away death does not.

In turn, I cannot deny what is wonderful about this country. I cannot deny or ignore the daily enthusiasm for growing fortune and prosperity I witness in the faces of those I work with, or in the smiles I see even in the faces even of those less economically fortunate than me. Enthusiasm and happiness are as natural as breathing; I am relieved and comforted by the fact that this is so.

Yet, as I write this, I do so knowing that I would be foolish to assume that prosperity is a given. It is not. Why? Because the country that I love is being threatened by one thing, and one thing only: Apathy. Apathy about the fact that we are heading towards electing to lead a country a man who is not even fit to lead a family. Apathy about the fact that, collectively, the energy crisis we find ourselves in is solvable. Apathy about the fact that we are being terrorised by a tiny minority of criminals who feed off the fact that we fear them. Apathy about the fact that we are willingly handing over the keys to justice and relentless prosecution of crime to a few fat men and women who have no comprehension of the underlying value of the crocodile-skinned shoes they find their feet in. Apathy about the fact that we are effectively destroying this value I talk about by letting the unearned be had via continuing racism under the disguise of so-called BEE. Apathy, most of all, about the fact that we're letting all that we so vocally oppose happen without opposition.

I refuse to live in apathy. I refuse to say that something is wrong, only to become so numbed by it over time that I become complacent enough to just accept that I cannot change it. I refuse to lie down while the country that has brought me so much joy is plunged into a state which does not reflect the values I cherish like I cherish those I love. I refuse to let South Africa become like the rest of Africa, and I refuse to say "Africa's not that bad". I simply, decisively and utterly refuse to succumb to apathy.

As I write these words to you, I do so with an understanding that you may not see them as I do. I do however have hope that you do, and that they'll give you even just an inkling of the courage you need to stand up and stop accepting the delusional belief that you cannot change what you see. You know what good is, it's a natural state. Both you and I know what we need to do to make good a reality, but apathy stops us from enforcing it, so evil gains the upper hand. There is no evil as vile as the indifference of good men. Right now, I challenge you to join me in eradicating indifference. Whether you eradicate it by producing, by teaching, by connecting, by protecting or by trading, know this: individual opposition to apathy, however small, however fractional, is the only way to prevent what we know is wrong from happening.

This is my country, like it is yours. Let's save it.

He sat back into the chair, the pillows almost swallowing him, and took a sip. "So tell me, my friend, about love."

"Love? I'm afraid I can't tell you much about love. I can only tell you how I felt.

I felt reassured by the way she said 'hi' when we first met. I felt silly for being nervous when she was so totally at ease. I felt young when she curled her feet up underneath her in public places, when she explained the reason for it so matter-of-factly. I felt amused by the way her hair got in her eyes, how it annoyed her, how she swore at it, and then how she blew it away from her face with her mouth pouted. I felt like smiling when she said 'ooo, isn't that cool?', and then grinned. I felt touched by the way she spoke with pride about her father. I felt kinship when she saw little details that everyone else ignored, but that I had also noticed. On the topic of smallness, I felt protective when I looked at how tiny her hands were. Without imagined importance, I felt flattered when she told me how much she respected me. I felt impressed by her stubborn, hard-earned independence. I felt responsibility when she asked me for help, and frustration when I couldn't. I felt joy when she laughed, when she smiled, when she admitted the mischief contained in her smile. I felt strangely comforted when she tiptoed around in her socks. I felt alive when I experienced the way she smelt, the way she felt, the way she hugged. I felt humbled by her knowledge of the world when she told me about places she had explored. I felt saddened by her sense of disheartened pessimism about mistakes made. To my own detriment, I felt challenged to in some way affect her sense of indifference to possible mistakes. I felt thrilled when she got a twinkle in her eye, and greatly expectant when she added a comment that made it even more alluring. Once or twice, I felt nearly disheartened by her tendency to see joy shared with her as inconsequential. When she patronised me, I started feeling insulted, but then realised that comical amusement was better. When she ate, I felt at home because of the way she did so with obvious enjoyment. Every time she messaged me at arbitrary times with arbitrary questions about introspectively interesting things, I felt important. Every time I replied, I felt appreciated.

I felt something I'd wondered about up until then and had never felt before. I loved her."

"And now?"

"Now, I just miss her."

Sometimes, when you think about happiness, you think about things you've enjoyed in the past. Enjoyed in a way which, when you remember them, gives you a warm fuzzy feeling. Memories like these are good to keep around.

A few years ago, I stood looking down at the vineyards below me. I could see cars moving around like ants a little further, where the outskirts of town began. The sky was totally cloudless, that shade of blue you usually only see in high-budget photographs of expensive properties. The air was hot enough for a drop of sweat to form on my chin, just waiting to drip onto my arm. There was very little sound, I was above the pine forest and the animals in it. I was alone at the top of a very long climb.

At that moment, I looked down at my bike, lent onto my handlebar, and smiled.

Happiness can be selfishly attained, I thought. Without wealth, without romance, without any large degree of material success. Without relying on anyone but oneself.

As I turned around to head back down into the valley below, I thought about what I'd just accomplished. I thought about how I'd reached the top of a hellishly steep and high climb with nothing but my own motive power, how the bike below me converted every ounce of energy I'd given it into forward motion. How the meticulous attention I paid to drivetrain setup and the proportionate adjustment of my seat, my pedals, my handlebar, was affecting how quickly I could get to the top (and the bottom, after that). I thought about my suspension, about how much time I'd spent tweaking the spring and dampening rates, about how my tire pressure was affecting how I was drifting sideways across the pine needles below me.

Cycling - in all its forms - has always made me happy, ever since I rode without side-wheels for the first time when I was 2. Everything about it thrills me, from pushing further and harder than I thought was possible, to setting a bike up with the ridiculous attention to detail I'm regularly mocked about, to the way I feel completely drained and hungry for muesli and yoghurt (strange, I know) after a long ride.

And so, a little while ago, I decided I was going to spend more time, money and effort on stuff that I know makes me happy. Mountain biking, and my serious return to it, is the start.

Check out my new toy

So how do I end this year in writing?

Do I say something about love? I can't. Not because I don't want to; but because this year, for the first time in 29 years, I confirmed without a doubt that I know nothing about it, and possibly never will. As deeply disturbing as it is to be close to conceding that I may never understand something which seems so natural to the majority of my fellow human beings, I have forced myself to become accustomed to the feeling. As Alfonso Cuarón wisely said: "There either is or is not a way things are". This I have come to accept.

Instead, I've decided to quote what has been the most inspiring piece of writing I've been lucky enough to discover in a long time. I've often referred to perspective as an incredibly valuable frame of mind, and this piece illustrates the concept beautifully. It's a few paragraphs taken from Carl Sagan's The Pale Blue Dot, which he wrote after looking at an image taken by Voyager 1 on February 14, 1990. As Voyager moved increasingly further away from earth on its journey of inter-planetary discovery, engineers turned it around for one last look at us. The spacecraft was about 6.4 billion kilometres away from our home world as it captured an image of earth as simply a tiny point of light only 0.12 pixels in size. This is what Sagan had to say:

Look again at that dot. That's here. That's home. That's us. On it everyone you love, everyone you know, everyone you ever heard of, every human being who ever was, lived out their lives. The aggregate of our joy and suffering, thousands of confident religions, ideologies, and economic doctrines, every hunter and forager, every hero and coward, every creator and destroyer of civilization, every king and peasant, every young couple in love, every mother and father, hopeful child, inventor and explorer, every teacher of morals, every corrupt politician, every "superstar," every "supreme leader," every saint and sinner in the history of our species lived there--on a mote of dust suspended in a sunbeam.

The Earth is a very small stage in a vast cosmic arena. Think of the rivers of blood spilled by all those generals and emperors so that, in glory and triumph, they could become the momentary masters of a fraction of a dot. Think of the endless cruelties visited by the inhabitants of one corner of this pixel on the scarcely distinguishable inhabitants of some other corner, how frequent their misunderstandings, how eager they are to kill one another, how fervent their hatreds.

Our posturings, our imagined self-importance, the delusion that we have some privileged position in the Universe, are challenged by this point of pale light. Our planet is a lonely speck in the great enveloping cosmic dark. In our obscurity, in all this vastness, there is no hint that help will come from elsewhere to save us from ourselves.

The Earth is the only world known so far to harbour life. There is nowhere else, at least in the near future, to which our species could migrate. Visit, yes. Settle, not yet. Like it or not, for the moment the Earth is where we make our stand.

It has been said that astronomy is a humbling and character-building experience. There is perhaps no better demonstration of the folly of human conceits than this distant image of our tiny world. To me, it underscores our responsibility to deal more kindly with one another, and to preserve and cherish the pale blue dot, the only home we've ever known.

You're too emotional!

You're cold-hearted!

How can you say that? I love you!

Hah. No, I'm not busy practicing writing scripts for Days of our Lives. Instead, I'm throwing a ball between two sides of the court. What got this throwing going is a bit of wondering about why and how I react emotionally to things. Specifically, reacting emotionally at different intensities, and the effect this intensity can have on the outcome of whatever got emotions going in the first place.

Everyone reacts with varying degrees of emotion to events, people and situations. The other day, I reacted very logically and calmly to a situation I afterwards thought would possibly be volatile for someone in the position I was, and it fascinated me. Which, of course, led to a bit of investigation into my reactionary system...

So, without further ado, I bring you the Ideal Emotive Response Model™

* OK, so calling it "Ideal" might be a bit arrogant, I admit. It's how I see the way I react. More importantly, it's how I would ideally like to react.

The premise is simple: being able to selectively pause emotion while its effect on the outcome of the situation is considered, is an extremely powerful ability.

Now, I'm not going to claim that this ability is something which can be switched on/off or trained, or even that anyone can acquire it. I'm simply stating its theoretical value; within the context of my attempts to figure it out, with some degree of success. If you know anything about psychology you'll be aware that emotion is in essence a physiological reaction to how the environment is perceived, with the idea that the environment might be better coped with if the mind and body is driven to react to it in a certain way. Much like flowers open to absorb sunlight, so the human mind becomes angry or sad or intensely focused or oblivious to reach its goals (whatever they may be, survival being one example).

OK, so emotion is a tool the body employs to reach its goals, right? But what if your body's goals (although instinctive) are not necessarily in line with a set of goals you've carefully and rationally calculated? Your calculations could be wrong, of course - and some would argue that they probably are, because your instinct know best… although it's not something I can ignore, this is beyond the scope of this discussion Rather, I'd like to go on the assumption that the rational goal is more important than the instinctive one. At the very least, it's wanted more.

When you place rational goals above instinctive ones, you implicitly have to put yourself into a mode that relies on reasoning as your primary "processor". You decide, if you will, to not react to anything at a whim, but to analyse and process everything logically. Now here's the thing: When you process things logically (and place focus on doing so), emotion holds the potential to become a tool with which to increase the effectiveness of your reaching of the rational goal, as opposed to simply an involuntary reaction designed to reach the instinctive goal.

Of course, I've assumed up to this point that emotion can be switched on or off based on a choice, which in turned is based on a logical argument. Initially (step two in the diagram), it's pretty easy, because emotional intensity is pretty low. Once the level of intensity rises (by choice), it can be difficult to pause it again to make a rational assessment. The mere presence of emotion interferes with reason, something which concerns me deeply (and is yet again a topic for another day). I think it can be done though, with practice.

What's the secret? Temporary cold-heartedness, the kind that draws blanks stares from the romantically inclined. Not cold-heartedness in an evil kind of way, but cold-heartedness in a way which understands one thing: killing at one point increases life at another.

UPDATE: The thinking's been a bit expanded in the comments...

OK, so my last post might've seemed a bit negative. It was, to be honest. Failure has a tendency to incite irrational negativity.

Negativity is (in my humble opinion at least) not a natural state of being. I'd like to believe that hope is, but this creates an entire dilemma with an entire set of arguments on its own. So instead of reminiscing about hope, I think it's appropriate to quote Thomas Edison:

I didn’t fail ten thousand times. I successfully eliminated, ten thousand times, materials and combinations which wouldn’t work.

So true.

You have a goal.

Firstly, you determine whether the goal is worth achieving, whether it's something worth dedicating even a little bit of your time or resources to.

Secondly, you determine whether the goal is in fact achievable. Often, problems might seem unsolvable and goals unreachable, but usually your gut feel (which is simply a mosaic of everything you know) will convince you either way if the obvious facts don't point in a specific direction.

Once you've convinced yourself that things are achievable - and viably so - you make a decision. Not necessarily a decision to achieve, but a decision to attempt to.

Next, you determine what's needed to get to the point you want to be. Usually, this involves a bit of research, sometimes breaking down the challenge into smaller chunks. In most cases, there will be a desirable end-result which can only be accomplished through a series of smaller steps. In some cases, however, the end-result will be vague, definable only by gut feel.

You formulate a plan with which to address every step of the challenge. You think about the plan, consider the possible outcome of each and every element carefully. In all likelihood, you do a bit of fine-tuning to each step after you've considered the plan in its entirety.

You implement.

You fail.

You fine-tune again, trying to avoid the previous mistake.

You implement.

You fail.

You fine-tune with consideration towards all previous mistakes.

(Repeat n times)

You continue to fine-tune, continue to implement, convinced that achievement is possible.

You continue to fail.

You start to doubt whether achievement is possible, but when reminded by achievement around you, convince yourself that you're being silly.

You fail again, and again.

You start to doubt yourself.

You re-evaluate whether achievement is what you desire, convince yourself that it is, and continue to implement.

You fail.

You consider. Not just the goal, but the viability, what you think is needed to reach it, what you've planned to do, how you've planned to do it, whether you've implemented your plan correctly, whether your fine-tuning has been correctly made, whether it's been made in the correct direction. You decide to take yet another different approach.

You implement.

You fail again.

You can't understand how every logical step you've taken is not having the desired effect. How every adjustment, every attempt to think laterally is being met with a negative result.

You cannot bear the thought of failure anymore.

In a moment of desperation, you take an approach which does not fit with your principles, which does not sit comfortably with your sense of self, which does not feel like it would be something you would ever recommend to anyone, which feels wrong to the core. But you take it anyway, because you cannot bear the thought of failure.

You fail again. This time not because your implementation or plan is flawed, but because your approach is fundamentally wrong. Of course, you know this; but you took it anyway, and you're painfully aware of this fact. You realise, with utter disdain, that you gave away all sense of what is right simply because you couldn't bear the thought of failure. You realise that you have failed yourself.

Every single failure except the last is acceptable.

Such an overused word, this.

Sometimes however, it's the only word that will do. Like when you're describing a vehicle like the Bugatti Veyron. Now if you know me well, you'll be aware of the fact that I have an appreciation for fine engineering; whether this engineering is in the form of automobiles, boats, bicycles or buildings. While each of these may differ in its intended use, the very best example of each usually has the same purpose: to achieve the highest possible degree of perfection.

Of course, the Veyron is just a car. It's not a woman (another thing to be appreciated, I'm acutely aware of). It's just a collection of parts. Precision crafted parts, of course, but still parts. That's not the point. The point is what the Veyron represents: a concrete representation of man's highest ideal, perfection. At least, as close as anyone can possibly get to it at this moment in time. That's why the Veyron appeals to me in such a primal way. Not because it's unbelievably fast (408km/h top speed), but because of the way it makes me smile when I think of the thousands of hours of painstaking planning, calculation, manufacturing, testing and refining that have gone into producing such an incredible machine. The Veyron cannot exist without the kind of attention to detail that keeps a man awake for days while trying to solve a seemingly unsolvable technical challenge. It cannot exist without an attitude that says no to any compromise except the reasonable. It cannot exist without thought that refuses to accept existing benchmarks as absolutes. It cannot exist without the kind of inspiration that generates seemingly boundless amounts of energy from nothing. The Veyron cannot exist without that part of man which is utterly committed to achieving the best it can possibly achieve - and that's why it has me in awe.

It's incredible what man is capable of.

Context: Flat out in a Bugatti Veyron.

The dictionary defines resolve (noun) as Firmness of purpose.

Which made me think about the concept a little...

The other day, someone contacted me with a request that I couldn't grant. The person explained this request (and the reason behind it) to me in a fair amount of detail, with what I thought to be a fair amount of logic. Logic is something I appreciate, so I returned the favour by dedicating an hour or so to considering the matter, after which I provided them with a detailed written explanation of why I couldn't agree.

They called me the next day, close to outraged that I wasn't budging. I explained why, again, using simpler examples of the principles behind my argument. They reverted to threats. I repeated the reasoned logic. They said I was being abstract, that the fact that I was basing my side of the argument on principles was impractical. I smiled. In my case, the principle I was using to defend my thinking was one that I've over time given plenty of thought, arriving (long ago) at the conclusion that it made perfect sense to me, and that I'd use it as a base for reasoning about other things.

So why do I believe that you shouldn't back down when someone challenges you on a principle?

Here's why: True principles should be based on one absolute, and one absolute only: reason. They should came into existence because at some stage, somewhere, you asked "why?" And then tried to explain why, gathered facts, looked at prior experiences, conducted experiments, carefully considered the results, and finally arrived at a conclusion with the knowledge that what you came up with was based on your ability to think, and nothing else. If the principle can be proven wrong with a logical, proven argument, you should concede. Otherwise, never.

That's resolve.

A while back, someone looked at me with frustration and said "Aaargh, you're so incredibly persistent!"

My response at the time was "Why do you think I'm so good at what I do?"

I realised shortly afterwards how irrelevant and utterly unmeant an answer this was. What I wanted to, and should have said to her, was "Yes, I am. Because for me, the degree of persistence is a rational, carefully considered choice, and directly proportionate to the worth of what's being pursued".

How old do you feel?

Not "how old would you say you are", but rather how old, sitting right where you are, ignoring any pre-conceived notions, do you actually feel?

For me, it varies with my immediate environment. I'm guessing it does for everyone. For example, when I'm sitting down with a new client, trying to figure out how we're going to put a bunch of numbers going through wires together to help them make money, I feel roughly 40. Seriously. My logic tells me that I've been around for a while in the current situation, because I'm the expert. I know exactly (most of the time, anyway) what I'm doing - in my opinion more so than most people my age, because my career as an entrepreneur has been pretty much a sole, one-tracked pursuit in my life up until now. Which makes me feel pretty experienced. Now here's the thing: Add to this my perception of people who are highly skilled and experienced, but still youthful enough to be innovative, and 40 is the age which pops into my head. So I feel about 40.

On the other hand, when I've got my shorts and running shoes on and I'm heading up the mountain for a fast-paced walk and packed sandwich snack at the top, I feel about 17. Give or take. Because I'm not restricted by any societal expectations to act in a certain way, I can jump over rocks and whistle on the way down. With glee. It also feels like this when I'm riding my mountain bike, hopping and popping wheelies over kerbs - something I love to do. Unfortunately, on the first climb of the day I feel the lack of 17 year old fitness levels quite quickly. All right, very quickly.

With me?

OK, now when I meet people around my (actual) age, I'm always quite curious to see what age bracket they seem to imagine themselves in. I use the term "bracket" very loosely, please note. You see, I'm convinced that chronological age and frame-of-mind age aren't even remotely related in most instances...

For example, some 30 year olds seem to be under the impression that they're grown-ups. They're not opposed to thinking like a kid per sé (at least I don't think so), but they don't seem to like the idea that they may be perceived to be younger than they really are. The women wear a lot of make-up, possibly to hide any traces of aging (notice the irony?). They also wear a lot of jewellery, possibly to differentiate themselves from their less-well-taken-care-off counterparts. The men make sure that you know that they drive the kind of car which eliminates any doubts about their position on the business ladder. If you pay careful attention you'll notice that they're usually particularly nonchalant about this, which immediately provides some insight. They'll skilfully approach the topic in casual conversation, but only from an arbitrary angle, like complaining about insurance costs. Importantly though, actual figures aren't dared to be mentioned - this would show that time has been spent on the subject. Time spent would imply that they're not successful enough to not care about trivial matters involving trivial amounts of money. I find this attempted seriousness hugely amusing to watch

On the other hand, some people much older than me act like they're still discovering the world for the first time. They act like children, effectively. They'll find and tell you with fascination about the simplest little things, without regard for how you might perceive their "maturity". The women tend to wear very little if any make-up, because their age isn't all that important to them. Or at least, how old they're seen to be isn't very important to them. That they don't wear much jewellery either goes without saying. The men sometimes do own expensive vehicles, but usually just because they like the features and enjoy driving them. In contrast to their want-to-be-grown-up counterparts, these men don't mind discussing the details of their toys with you, costs included. Importantly though, they won't bring these things up in casual conversation, because the subject actually is trivial to them.

What's my point? I guess it's that I'm under the impression that there's a very clear distinction between two kinds of people in terms of age mentality:

• Those who go through a phase of wanting to be grown-up. They try (with varying degrees of success it seems) for years. Eventually (at what age I'm not sure), they realise that it's all quite silly really, and start acting naturally again.
• Those who realise very early on that trying to be grown-up is silly, and proceed to just be themselves. These people reach the "aw, screw it " moment (also referred to as the "fugit" moment) at an early age; that moment where they stop caring what other people think.

Now people in the second group I'm obviously much more inclined to relate to, whatever their actual age. They're fun to spend time with. They don't mind engaging in activities society dictates to be reserved for the youth (read "fun, silly stuff"). They're not constantly worried about "acting their age", something that's usually referred to as "being appropriate". They find amusement in small things, and as a result are never boring themselves. They're just... well, themselves. This is hugely attractive to me, and so I'd like to think I'm part of this group. At least when I'm not dusting little pieces of lint off my formal jacket.

So, the question is: How old do you feel at this very moment?

Leave on a jet plane.

I know you'll be back again. Pack your bags and stand outside your door. Wave goodbye to the foreign currency and trade it for something more. Take a look at the sky, remember the summer breeze, the way it whispers through the trees while you're taking a nap after a picnic.

Pack your bags and think of the laughter of friends around you. Think of the bergie back home, of how he manages to find humour even before he finds a place to sleep.

Pack your bags and remember how the lady on the corner dresses up in full head-attire, even though she's just selling little beaded necklaces for R20 a pop.

Pack your bags and remember the taste of karoo lamb chops fresh from the grid.

Close your front door and remember the crispness of the air when the sun peeks its warm face out in winter, lovingly stroking you with that sunburn you so sorely miss.

Walk down the road and think about the buzz that is opportunity. Think about how that buzz represents hope. Think of Africa.

Leave on a jet plane, we're waiting for you.

Come home.

...now that winter is here.

I'm not usually a meme fan, but since Victoire asked so nicely...

• Take a stroll in the forest after it's rained - There are few things as refreshing as being in nature after it's taken a nice bath. That smell of wet bark, the sounds of birds frolicking in puddles of water, the crispness in the air. Love it. Wait, did I just use the word "frolicking"?
  
  
• Catch a sunrise - Yes, it means getting up really early for a change (admittedly a tough thing to do when it's freezing), but then again the tougher something is to get, the more rewarding it tends to be. Preferably done on a day without rain.
  
  
• Read. On the couch. Under a fluffy blanket - Diving into a good book is always nice, but even more so when it's done in plush warmth with the wind and rain howling outside.
  
  
• Slip your feet into a pair of sheepskin wool slippers - I received a pair as a birthday gift last year. Slipping into these puppies after a hot shower is to your feet what a nice warm hug is to your soul.
  
  
• Give a nice warm hug - Need I say more?

So there I was, ripping apart the remains of the top of the cabinet. The detached bottom part was being transformed (by way of some sawing, sanding,wood filling and painting) into my brand new TV unit/stand.

As I pulled the pieces of chipboard and laminate apart, one of the shelves tilted over and fell onto my foot. The series of nails protruding from it flashed through my thoughts as it hit my shoe, puncturing the soft canvas on top and sticking straight through. Oh shit. I felt a sting, and was convinced that one of the nails had gone straight through my big toe. Adrenaline has a habit of numbing pain, apparently... I scurried to remove my shoe and sock, and as I did so (expecting a gush of blood), there was only a slight graze down the side of my toe. The nail had missed it by literally a millimetre.

For the next 30 minutes, I painstakingly pulled out or flattened every single nail and staple on every single piece of wood. Lots of them, in case you were wondering. Even though everything was going to be discarded as building rubble the next day, I felt compelled to remove the danger from this heap of junk. It wasn't someone else's problem to prevent harm to others, it was mine.

Something similar happens every time a taxi drives past me and a passenger carelessly tosses a plastic wrapper out the window. I wonder what they're thinking. It's always puzzled me. Over the last few years, I've come to the conclusion that most people spend less time thinking about things than I previously assumed. I wanted to ask "why?", but then I realised that it might actually be a better idea to ask "why do I think so much about things?"...

You see, whenever I see something out of the ordinary happen, whenever I meet someone interesting, whenever I discover a new concept, whenever I stumble across something I can see has been carefully crafted, I think about it. I don't just think, I consider in-depth. I try to understand the story behind the event, the history behind the person, the logic behind the concept, the motivation behind the craft. If I don't understand it at first, I try to find out more; and then I do a little more thinking. I want to know how and when. I want to know where. Most importantly, I intensely want to know why. It's never-ending for me, this curiosity. It's subconscious. When I'm walking down the road on an average day, I'll be trying to figure out how to better explain point A to Person X, when I walk back I'll be trying to make sure that what I've decided is correct before I put things into action. As silly as it sounds, it's always been this way for me, it's always been a way of doing I've cherished. I don't quite know why, but I do know that I really want to know why. I guess it's simple really:

I do not want to be indifferent, ever.

Right now, I've been told that I need to be indifferent. Something has happened in my life that has prompted me into trying to shift my mindset towards being less curious about the "why", to be less involved. I've been making a serious, concerted attempt to stop this involvement and consideration. I've failed so far.

I refuse to not let things affect me, to disregard them. I refuse to not continue to be curious about the why, even though I know that I may not understand it. I accept the reality of the situation (after all, reality cannot be faked), but I refuse to distance myself from the matter at hand, as much as I've been advised about the wisdom of such a choice. Most of all, with all my heart, I refuse to stop caring just because caring is to my detriment at this point, or at any other point.

I refuse to be indifferent, and will continue to do so.

You know when you're walking down a deserted path, and you can't hear or see anyone else, or even see any evidence of another soul anywhere nearby? You know that quiet isolation that makes your ears sing with silence?

Imagine an entire lifetime spent in that silence.

Not silence of the physical kind, but silence of the interaction kind. No conversations with other human beings, only the hunt for the food you crave. No smiling and being smiled back at, just the crackle of the fire as you cook the object of your hunt. No customary greeting, only the running of water through your hands as you scoop it from the river to drink.

Could you wake up every single day as the only human being on the planet, and be happy?

Does happiness at its core really require others, or can it be had through simple solitary being? The question is not whether you'd be able to answer "yes" right now (having been raised in societal conditions, you probably couldn't), but rather whether it is technically possible to be happy without others. Is it?

I want to believe that it is. I'm disturbed by the notion that another person (or persons) can affect my happiness. Let me rephrase: I'm disturbed by the notion of anyone other than myself having any effect whatsoever (whether positive or negative) on my happiness. It's simple really: rationally, I want my reason to be the only determinant of the purpose of my life, and thus my happiness. It's like Ayn Rand said in her definition of objectivism:

My philosophy, in essence, is the concept of man as a heroic being, with his own happiness as the moral purpose of his life, with productive achievement as his noblest activity, and reason as his only absolute.

OK, so it's a noble concept (at least, it seems noble; and a concept which I continue to believe in) to be the master of your own destiny, but does being the master of your own destiny imply that mastering can be accomplished without others?

I don't know... Do you?
Oh wait, you're not there.

Dear Mr President,

We live in a wonderful country. A country which offers so many experiences that not even the greatest wordsmith would be able to fit them all into one volume of writing. A country which offers astounding amounts of beauty. Beauty to the naked eye, but also to the eye trained to those little details that don't go unnoticed as often as is sometimes thought.

We live in a country rich with people who have differing perspectives on this inexplicable thing we call life. Some get up in the morning and walk into orchards bright with apples ready to be picked. Some switch on the machinery that drives industry. Others descend into the earth to mine the bountiful resources we're so lucky to have. Some stride proudly into hospitals and clinics, helping save all different kinds of lives, even those of other creatures we share this planet with. Some get up and create the wiring that drives a wealth of information to each of our doorsteps. Others sit down and plan the exchanges that bring food to our tables.

As diverse as our people are, they all strive for something better. As putting a piece of food into your mouth is the most natural thing in the world, so is wanting to increase enjoyment of life. This wanting transcends wealth, education, geographical location, language, race or anything other thing we might say is different between us. This wanting is within us all, quietly driving our daily actions towards achieving whatever it is that we define as "better". In some cases, better is as simple as an extra slice of bread for supper. In other cases, better is network of friends within walking distance. Sometimes, better means an empire of businesses that collectively enable thousands to feed their children. In all cases, better involves other people, the smiles we exchange, the way we talk about dreams, the shared understanding we have of such utterly natural needs as food, shelter, safety, love and self-actualisation. It's this shared understanding that connects us as human beings, that enables us to work together towards common goals, that gives us just enough empathy to be able to realise that we care.

Caring is what binds us, and it shouldn't be negotiable.

Caring is not limited to self or others. It spans across selfishness and altruism, into the realm of the common goal of better. Better should be possible, not because of luck or fate or hidden forces at play, but because every single individual part of the whole cares. Whether or not individuals agree on how to achieve common goals is largely irrelevant if there is not yet a deep common feeling of "I care about the better". This feeling doesn't need to involve actionable plans towards the better. It doesn't even need to define the better in exact terms. All it needs to do is inspire an understanding that every little thing matters, that every little action within the framework of human compassion can meaningfully contribute towards the better.

In my humble opinion, Mr President, not enough South Africans care about the better.

Without caring about the better, without caring (full stop) as a start, we cannot succeed as a nation. Whether one is versed enough in macro-economics, sociology and all the expert fields required to have an opinion on what South Africa needs on the road to success is not the point of this letter. The point of this letter is that within any home, block, city, province and country, every single individual has the power to enable the better by caring. By caring about what happens when someone discards a plastic wrapper into the wind. By caring that the person walking down the road next to them doesn't fall into the path of oncoming traffic. By caring about another person's belongings left unattended in a public place. By caring just enough to change just one little thing every day on the way to the better.

Today, If I may be so bold Mr President, I'd like to encourage to you change South Africa. Not by managing government structures through endless operational and strategic meetings. Not by speaking to foreign leaders on their soil about building trade relationships. Not by rolling out ever more direly needed police officers. Not even by facilitating building of the infrastructure we so desperately need. All these things are important yes, but they pale in comparison to stepping up to a challenge only conquered by great men. I'm asking you, Mr President, to inspire our people.

Inspire our people by telling them a story. Book an hour of prime-time television on all channels, and speak to the heart of every single person who's watching. Tell them about how far we've come, but tell it as a story of hope, courage and achievement. Evoke the emotions that every South African has within them by highlighting touching tales of caring on a micro, individual level. Give our people the tools they need to see things from a different perspective, to stop thinking about whatever they are doing at that very moment, to realise that the only thing that really can make a difference to the state our country finds itself in is caring. Show emotion, Mr President, but not staged emotion. Tell a story that brings a slight tremor to your own voice, then pick up your tone and speak of the courage you have to reach the better, and ask every single South African to share this courage with you. Once you do this, you'll realise that the power of collective purpose and individual action surpasses exponentially any government initiatives at creating the better.

Do this, Mr President, and you will have shown yourself to be the leader our country needs.

Yours, together in caring for the better
Martin Hattingh

If one thing, the rise of the blogging phenomenon has given us access to people's minds in a way we never imagined possible. Granted, many of these minds are pretty empty, but let's not get into that.

Rather, what I'm referring to is a broad, uncensored view into people's thought patterns. Specifically, to the advantage of both genders I believe, a view into the mind of woman, as never seen before.

This is something not to be taken lightly, and so I thought I'd share with you a few girls who (I suspect) I've gained some insight from over time:

• Peas on Toast
• Rox in the City
• Girlspoke
• Dooce
• The Lush

And, if you're less conservative:

• Girl with a one-track mind

Insight given yes. Actual knowledge derived, no. I still suck just as badly these days at understanding them as ever. Anybody have a clue to what's in those pretty things of theirs they call heads?

* Disclaimer: I'm not going to make any comment about whether I even remotely agree/disagree with the worldview of or like/dislike any the authors above, I simply find what they write insightful. You know, just so I don't get accused of anything.

Every once in a while, I get to points where I re-evaluate my outlook on life. The rules I use to process what gets thrown at me from day to day, so to speak. Not because I feel the need to be dramatic, but because I think it makes sense to double-check that I've been using reasonable underlying premises. I don't know whether everyone else does this (I'm thinking most people do, it seems natural), but that's of course why I write it down here; in the hope that some of it will possibly echo with you, my dear reader 

OK, enough with the formalities...

There's this thing I've been finding increasingly interesting lately. It's called hope. I don't know if other species experience it, and of course in my arrogance I'd like to believe that it's unique to us humans, but either way I find it really fascinating. I think hope drives more than we give it credit for. Personally, I believe that it's one of the core factors that gets us up in the morning; that it motivates us to keep on doing, to keep on trying to do if we're not doing yet, to keep on finding ways to try if we haven't yet, and to figure out what to try if we don't know yet. It's a universal human feeling (or an emotion, I'm not sure), and thinking about it makes me proud to be a human being. It's a beautiful thing.

As beautiful as it seems though, thinking about it rationally I can't help but consider how silly it really is, especially in light of our understanding of probability. Hope is, quite simply put, the belief that probability will rule in our favour more often than not. Scientifically speaking, this is of course very foolish. It's like building a bridge with bricks that have not been tested (and which we have no way of testing), but with the assumption that most of these bricks will hold up just fine when they're needed to. Hope is a delusion, in other words.

And so here's the problem: Without hope, we are doomed to an existence based largely on probability, with our actions having effect, but limited within the parameters of probability, devoid of meaningful purpose. With hope, we free our perception of life from the constraints of probability, but we're ultimately setting ourselves up for huge disappointment - because probability just simply cannot always rule in our favour. Are you seeing the problem here?

It's a case of (as Bart Simpson said) "you're damned if you do, you're damned if you don't".

Except I refuse to be damned.

You see, even though I believe that reason is the only absolute we should ever apply, I have this little voice inside me that says "screw probability". This little voice giggles a little bit every time I see a child learning to walk for the first time, when I see two elderly ladies laughing at a joke, when I feel the slightness of a raindrop on my forehead. It makes me smile when I see a piece of art that exists only to evoke emotion, when I wrap my hands around my bike's handlebars and take that first pedal stroke, when I feel the grass under my feet on a warm summer's day. It sends a tingle through my skin when I see someone closing their eyes after putting a block of chocolate into their mouth, when I see the thrill a street vendor gains from his first sale. It stops me from blinking when I feel the warmth of a hug, when I notice the precision in a piece of engineering, when I feel the light touch between two fingertips. Most importantly, this voice chuckles when on rare occasions I encounter individuals who display an inspiring disregard for probability, when I see how at ease they are with their surroundings, how comfortable they are with not caring about what doesn't concern them. It sends a shiver down my spine when I think about how effortlessly these people evoke smiles around them, when I see the little snippets of expectation they find so natural, when I hear them talk about the future with careless uncertainty. It's this embracement of uncertainty which makes me realise that the real foolishness is in losing hope.

And so, after re-evaluation, I refuse to change my outlook. Hope is real.

When you're young, you hear older people talking about experiences they've had, lessons they've learnt. Often, you end up respecting these older folk for the lessons you perceive in these tales, for the principles that end up sticking in your mind. Principles that aren't just imparted to you with the expectation that you'll believe them, but principles that give you hope because of their nature: the fact that they're logically reasoned, and that the very logical reasoning they're based implies that your human mind has the power to produce, to create, to be extraordinary.

And then you grow older. You see the world doing things differently to what your reasoning says, and to what your principles reflect. You question the world's reasoning, and often find that there is no reasoning at all - the world does things because it isn't perfect, because perfect logic can only apply in a perfect world.

Some people try to get the world to adopt reasoning, but are crippled at every attempt to do so, because reasoning is for a theoretical world, and not the real world. Eventually, they end up adopting the world's way, because not doing so is much harder, perceived to be much less fruitful and ultimately pointless. The world is bigger than individual thought, it is said, and so they start believing that fighting the world's lack of reasoning is a waste of time.

Other people, also trying to get the world to adopt reasoning, end up differently. They understand that the world doesn't always reason, but stubbornly keep on trying to change individuals, and by implication the world. They refuse to accept that the world cannot be a place of reason, because the world is made up of individuals, and individuals have the ability to reason. Importantly, they keep the principles originally passed on to them close to their hearts, not because these principles remind them of the respect they have for those that taught them; but because each principle reminds them of their own ability to reason, to arrive at each principle in the first place. These people stick to what they believe is right in the face of others who gradually give up reason, saddened by the notion of a mind which justifies a loss of reason with gaining the ability to succeed in a world without it.

Today, I'm of the opinion that the world needs more principled individuals - not because of their principles, but because their ability to reason gives them the capability to make the world a logical place, one individual at a time.

Following up on my previous ramblings, and in response to Dave's comment, I thought it polite to point out a very interesting piece of reading material to those that haven't been amazed by Scott Adams' thought patterns.

People say things like "yes, probably" and "in all probability" all the time. Do yourself a favour, read God's Debris (it's a free PDF dowload) once (or twice) - you'll probably never look at the concept of probability in the same way again...

OK, so the guys in the office were having a debate about whether it's theoretically possible to predict lottery results.

My argument was that yes, it is. What I found interesting though is the example I used to justify my train of thought. Think about this:

Is it theoretically possible (ceteris paribus, naturally) to sink all the balls on a pool table from any given position with only one shot? Even if there were 1000 balls on a football stadium-sized table?

Some days I wish I had some kind of drawing skill. Sure, icons can be pretty, but they're downright easy to create compared to real drawings. In my dreams I can draw. In real life I can't, unfortunately...

Veerle Pieters on the other hand, can draw. Quite well, actually. When I saw her latest creation, I couldn't help but smile. When discovering little gems like these, I'm always reminded of the beauty the human mind is capable of, and just that simple notion inevitably brightens my day.

PS: Check out the rest of her stuff via her art feed

Recently, I had a rather verbal disagreement with someone who was interested in making use of our services. Specifically, the gentleman in question wasn't happy about my intention to bill their company for travel to a first meeting (with the time spent on the meeting however not billable, as I'll explain).

To set things straight with those who questioned my logic, I decided to explain the modus operandi (actually, forget about fancy words, let's just call it "way of working") that I put forward when engaging new clients . The extract below has been slightly adapted to fit here, and also bear in mind that everything is outlined in a neat document which is provided to interested parties beforehand:

If you're interested in working with us, we'll gladly schedule an initial 1 hour meeting to discuss your requirements with you, at our offices, free of charge. If travel to your premises is preferred, travel costs are billable.

After the initial meeting, all other in-person meetings to discuss the project are billable - regardless of whether such meetings are on-site or at our offices. Phone or e-mail discussions are however free of charge, with our compliments.

OK?

Now most people immediately argue the following (which is, expectedly, roughly how it happened):

"You can't bill someone for a first meeting! You should be glad for the opportunity to get their business! Are you telling me that you don't need the work? That you've got enough work, and spending time with new clients isn't important to you? You should expect to spend money getting business - do you know how much money I spend getting new business?"

To which I politely counter-argue the following:

I'm sure that you spend money getting new business. Everyone does, myself included. However, I'm also sure that you probably account for that time/money spent in either of the following ways:

• You write it off as part of general marketing, effectively spreading the cost load across your entire business (or business unit, department, or whatever)
• You build the cost into the project, effectively billing the client for it in the end anyway (but only if they do become your client)

In both cases, someone has to pay for the time spent serenading prospective clients. With option 1, all the business's clients are effectively paying a small percentage of the cost of each new client signed up. With option 2, only the specific client is paying - but (and it's a big but) only if they actually become a client. If they don't, everyone else once again pays.

With me? Good, because there are three points I'd like to highlight.

Firstly: Allocating expenses to indirectly related areas (or clients, or employees, or whatever) is fundamentally not a sound principle. No one likes hidden costs, and by loading the cost of the first meeting into the project bill, you're effectively saying to your client: "Haha, you thought you got it for free - guess again sucker!". That, and the fact that in many cases your loyal, trustworthy clients end up paying for someone else's royal treatment expectations. Not good, don't you think?

Secondly: If you're in the business of billing for hourly skills (as opposed to producing and selling products), you literally are directly remunerated for your time, and spending time delivering skills without billing reduces your profitability directly. Doctors and lawyers are good examples - they sell their time, because they have special skills. To illustrate, I'll base my example of the ridiculousness of expecting free "serenading" from a doctor. If you were expecting the possibility of being ill in a week's time, it would certainly be very nice to be able to call a doctor in to visit you in the comfort of your home to explain the services he'd render if you were to become ill. The same would be ultra-convenient for legal services, wouldn't it? Unfortunately, most doctors (and lawyers) would simply laugh at you if you expected their time for free. Still with me?

Thirdly: Expecting a service provider (or vendor, or supplier, or any other other supply-side party) to be desperate for your business is a bit silly. It's like saying that the market is driven by demand. Which, funnily enough, many people actually believe to be true. In reality, market utopia is a balance between supply and demand. In practical terms, this means mutual agreement between a consumer and a producer to do business on terms that suit both parties. Not one, but both.

OK, so we have the principle of time as money (literally), together with the principle of mutual agreement on exchange. Both are, IMHO, equally important. However, I'm suspecting that you might have an objection... Doctors and lawyers are extreme examples of time-based billing I hear you say? Possibly, in some instances. And so, because it's all about balance (the market remember?), I think it's only fair to make a concession from the supply side - which is exactly why I believe in not charging for the first hour of a first meeting; granted that I don't have to incur a travel expense.

At this point, I'd like to make a very carefully considered statement: No one should ever do business if they feel that the value they're either offering or gaining is unreasonable. No consumer has the right to demand that he be served in a certain way, and no producer has the right to expect a consumer to consume what he's producing without question. Both have to compromise, otherwise the value sphere gets warped. Give a little, get a little, so to speak.

In my opinion, offering anything for free (or cost-loading something else to make up) is just plain bad business. When value and remuneration become disconnected, borders between priorities begin to blur. Value starts evaporating through all sorts of little cracks, and everyone starts losing out. It's a slippery slope which tricks the unwary into a state of complacency about the value they're adding, inevitably causing a loss of intent, something which I personally regard as fundamentally important. Without intent, entire systems of trade become mindless capital exchanges.

Amazingly, there's one simple thing every businessperson can do to avoid value evaporation: Never dilute what you're offering, no matter what. Easy, really.

Reading Joel's latest article reminded me of how little liking I have for the school of thought more commonly known as MBAism. Not loathing, or hate, or anything extreme like that, just a strong dislike. Why? Because I've been lucky enough to have known and brought up in discussion for some time what Joel states so eloquently:

Watching non-programmers trying to run software companies is like watching someone who doesn't know how to surf trying to surf.

"It's ok! I have great advisors standing on the shore telling me what to do!" they say, and then fall off the board, again and again. The standard cry of the MBA who believes that management is a generic function. Is Ballmer going to be another John Sculley, who nearly drove Apple into extinction because the board of directors thought that selling Pepsi was good preparation for running a computer company? The cult of the MBA likes to believe that you can run organizations that do things that you don't understand.

So simple, yet so true. Management is not a generic function. Full stop. Anyone who tells you that it is has probably never done anything more than maintain a business that someone else built, overseeing processes and models that someone else designed, earning a sliver of cream off the top of someone else's interest.

It's becoming a common thing these days for South Africans to say "screw this, I've had it with this third-world crap, I'm heading somewhere I'm appreciated". Especially younger, white South Africans.

Most of them head towards London. Some to the US. Many to Australia. Sometimes they come back, often they don't, and become so arrogant about their right to a "first-world lifestyle" that they regularly cite how hopeless their prospects are in SA's economy - while they continue to buy expensive imported South African goods in shops abroad, and write longing poems about how they miss the great weather, rugby and braais.

"There's no way I'm going to give up earning pounds, I'd be stupid not to use this opportunity" is what one usually hears. "I can't earn even a third of what I'm currently earning if I were back in SA" is another. I usually keep quiet when I hear this…

Over the last while, I've been looking at a few interesting and very lucrative business models which make me chuckle when I consider the box within which these ex-pats think. I also per chance read a paper that CK Prahalad and Stuart Hart wrote back in 2002.

My thinking: There is a #!$@-load of money to be made in South Africa, and in Africa as a whole. More than most places in the world, if you carefully consider the unique opportunities for thinking creatively.

Africa is a huge chunk of dirt. It is inhabited by a huge number of humans. Yes, most of them are poverty-stricken and live below what is broadly considered as the "breadline". Many struggle to sustain their families. But (and it's a big but), there are also massive amounts of Africans who enter the productive economical cycle every day. Out of desperation comes ingenuity, and one need only walk down an average urban sidewalk in Africa to realise how enterprising people become when they have survival as a driving force. Market forces can be seen in their purest form, and trading becomes an art. Ingenious business models emerge out of necessity, tailored to circumstances that are unique to our continent.

Business in Africa has more potential to be exploited than you'll find in any first-world country. Why? Because it has unique challenges, and very few individuals and organisations clever enough to respond to these challenges. The market hungers for creative solutions (because traditional, "western" ones don't do the trick). And that, my friend, is what makes me smile… The fact that solutions are in short supply. The market isn't saturated. Which, if you're brave enough, means that there is more opportunity to step in and generate massive amounts of value and wealth than in mature, saturated markets.

Make no mistake, traditional thinking is not going to bring you this wealth. Africa is a market which requires a low margin, high-volume approach to things. Hundreds of millions of individuals buying low-value goods, consuming cheap services. Hundreds of millions, nonetheless. It's a market which in my humble opinion will fundamentally reward those who are able to build businesses that thrive around almost non-existent individual transaction costs. Transaction costs (whether in monetary, time, effort or human form) are the core. How does one continue to bring transaction costs down? Systems thinking. Process thinking. Automation. IT, in other words. IT in all its forms; but most importantly, in a form built for Africa.

I'm staying. I see the opportunity, and there's no way I'm giving it up for a few pounds.

Let's build Africa.

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Sound familiar?

I'm not here to explain Defensive Design for the Web. 37signals have already done that, after all. What I am here to do is point out how helpful it is having a mindset that doesn't expect things to go smoothly all the time. In fact, I'd like to rephrase that: Expecting the worst is probably the best you can do.

Let's start with software developers, and something I've noticed with most of them: They assume that their software works. Not because they're arrogant, but because in building and testing it (and even testers I believe sometimes fall into this trap), they do things the way the system is designed to. They live according to the rules and parameters. This isn't necessarily a bad thing, but it creates a not-so-obvious problem. You see, most people who end up using any system don't understand or care about the rules, or about how the system was designed. In many cases, they don't even really understand the problem the system was designed to solve in the first place. They use the system because they don't want to think about that stuff. They need the system to work for them, so that they can continue to spend their time on other things the developers haven't thought about (and thus don't want to, or need to worry about). In most cases, good systems are those that guide users with the assumption that they don't understand how things work, pro-actively expecting them not to. Simple really, but still constantly overlooked.

I've become more and more aware of how important handling exceptions to what's expected really are. Not just in software, but in business (and thus life) in general. Effective exception handling is a rare skill that not many people possess. It enables you to get things done so much more efficiently - mainly because when you expect exceptions as a rule, you're pro-actively thinking about how to do things to avoid them in the first place. When you're doing that, you tend to presume that whoever you're dealing with in any given scenario doesn't understand (or isn't aware of) what you're offering/doing/asking. If you're thinking this way, you tend to plan and bring across what's going on much clearer than you usually would, and ultimately making provision for misunderstanding as a given. Personally, I think this is good.

Too difficult a mindset to have and keep up in everyday life though?

You tell me.

So I've finished reading Atlas Shrugged, after 3 months.

You think of yourself as a capitalist? I'll leave you with one paragraph from a book that I personally regard as philosophically more significant than the bible:

Did it ever occur to you that there is no conflict of interests among men, neither in business nor in trade nor in their most personal desires - if they omit the irrational from their view of the possible and destruction from their view of the practical? There is no conflict, and no call for sacrifice, and no man is a threat to the aims of another - if men understand that reality is an absolute not to be faked, that lies do not work, that the unearned cannot be had, that the undeserved cannot be given, that the destruction of a value which is, will not bring value to that which isn't. The businessman who wishes to gain a market by throttling a superior competitor, the worker who wants a share of his employer's wealth, the artist who envies a rival's higher talent - they're all wishing facts out of existence, and destruction is the only means of their wish. If they pursue it, they will not achieve a market, a fortune or immortal fame - they will merely destroy production, employment and art. A wish for the irrational is not to be achieved, whether the sacrificial victims are willing or not. But men will not cease to desire the impossible and will not lose their longing to destroy - so long as self-destruction and self-sacrifice are preached to them as the practical means of achieving the happiness of the recipients.

I my humble opinion, this one paragraph sums up the core of what business is about better than anything I've ever read before. I have plenty to say about this, but my priorities are pretty defined at the moment - slotting everything together perfectly takes time, and patience is a nice trait to have...

Of course the two are sides of a coin, the essence of balance. They form the basis of economics - without consumption, production is pointless, and vice versa.

Here's the thing, however: I believe that, in general, it's possible to classify people as either producers or consumers. Naturally, everyone both produces and consumes, but I believe that most individuals tend to lean predominantly to one side. My hypothesis is that you need only look at what someone enjoys more to determine which side they fall to. When I say "enjoy", I don't mean in the standard fill-in-questionnaire "what do you enjoy?" sense, I mean in the "what truly makes you happy?" sense…

A few examples:

• When cycling or running, the producer enjoys the push to the top of the hill, the consumer enjoys the ride down the other side.
• In money, the producer enjoys creating wealth, the consumer enjoys the fruits of wealth.
• In labour, the producer enjoys the effort which makes the holiday possible, the consumer enjoys the holiday itself.
• In troubleshooting, the producer enjoys getting to the root of the problem, the consumer enjoys it when the problem is solved.

Simplified (because most would argue that both sides are equal - I disagree, and emphasize the "enjoy more" part), and very unsubstantiated, I know, but that's partly how I see it.

Which side do you see yourself on?

There comes a time when it becomes clear that enough is enough.

Enough of worrying about capital. Enough of having to explain why I earn a third of what I could be if I worked for someone. Enough needing to make excuses for not being interested in get-togethers. Enough of failing to reach what most regard to be ridiculously impossible goals. Enough knowing every time that I do, that I could've done more to achieve them.

Enough is enough actually implies "Not enough", which can only be remedied by one thing. More.

I have decided that I am up to here with this shit of not having enough. It's time for more. More hard work, more dedication, more focus. More abandonment of whatever's not crucial to achieving my goals, more refinement of those goals, more capacity to achieve. More disregard of averages, more vision, more thinking big. More knowledge, more leveraging of what I already know, more strategy. More balls-to-the-wall, more risk, more productivity.

Practically, I'd like to apologise in advance to everyone who knows me for what's going to seem like utter selfishness for what I'm guessing will be the next 3-5 years. I'm not doing anymore favours, unless I can benefit tangibly from them, and then it's still up to me. I'm not attending any social gatherings, unless they're crucial to business, or birthdays of immediate family members. I'm not available for these things unless I choose to be, and still then I can control for how long I'm available, regardless of whether you or anyone else thinks I have an obligation or not.

What am I doing? I'm creating more. More productive achievement, one of the only things that makes me deeply happy. That's what it's about, and I will not put that aside any longer.

More me.

Responsibility.

People talk about it all the time, but I don't think they always understand it. I remember my mom giving me these talks when I was at school - she told me that "responsibility is the most important part of growing up, you'll appreciate that when you're older". Back then, I heard what she said, but I'm only now realising how important those words actually were…

You see, I grew up with a lot of freedom. My parents trusted me implicitly, mainly because I (with a few very rare exceptions I think) never gave them reason not to trust me. My freedom was enabled by my bike. I rode it everywhere, all the time. I'm not kidding when I say that; in high school, I'm guessing I averaged around 60kms a day on my bike, between training, riding to shopping centres to buy stuff, visiting friends to illegally copy games (those were the days ), and just exploring Pretoria. I rode a lot. The important thing is that they needed to trust me, because I basically left the house after school, and came back just before dark. Never were any questions asked, it was just assumed that I hadn't done anything stupid. And I mostly didn't, because there wasn't any need to - I appreciated that I was trusted, and returned the courtesy.

As I grow up (I'm not there yet, not even by a mile), I'm becoming even more independent, with even more responsibilities. I'm slowly realising how important independence is - not in the way people generally refer to it, but in the way that it's fundamental to my beliefs; which are based, not on some higher power, but on man's ability to think for himself, with his own competence and ability to reason and act on this reasoning as the cornerstones of his life.

Suffice it to say that independence is pretty important to me, although my defininition of independence itself is a story for another day. Responsibility, however, I'd like to get into. You see, I'm realising more and more that my perception (and I venture to say, understanding) of responsibility is radically different to that of most other people. I'm not talking about doing reckless stuff like driving when drunk, although that's implicitly included. I'm talking about the more fundamental, often-overlooked stuff that people don't think about. Financial matters are a good example:

Recently, we've had to charge an individual interest for money that he owes us. This person (not a client, BTW, let's call him X) owes us this money for goods purchased from us - we kindly agreed to let him pay in installments over a period of time, just because we're nice. At some point, we transferred the payments onto debit order, simply because it's easier to administer. X for some reason provided incorrect banking details, so the debit order bounced. Not once, but twice. Naturally, we added the bounce-charge (it's small, but has to be paid to the debit order provider, it's time wasted after all) onto the next month's payment, and let X know about this. Amazingly, he got upset, claiming that we're trying to rip him off. Upon explaining the technicalities to him, one of my partners had to endure quite a bit of abuse. "How dare we charge him interest on the backlog payments?" was one of the questions. "Why are we trying to be nasty?" was another. Also, X wished that he could settle the amount in full, just so he'd have us off his back.

I listened to the conversation, and for a moment I couldn't really believe what I was hearing (although in hindsight, I guess I shouldn't have been surprised). Then it struck me how X was reminding me of a fundamental societal problem...

People don't like responsibility.

They like freedom, but not the responsibility that comes with it. They want to live lives where they can do what they want, whenever they want, but they don't like to bear the absolute, full consequences of their actions. Think I'm making a sweeping generalisation? Think again.

• The average person is very quick to buy on credit, but not so quick to repay debt. Which is why there's a little thing called interest, which the average person either doesn't understand, or hates. Mainly because he's on its negative side most of the time.
• The average person is quick to say "Hey, if I can't repay my debts, what can they do? I'm not worth anything, they'll be wasting their time coming after me".
• The average person hides behind the business he works for. If he messes up, it doesn't matter, because nobody's going to come after him - he just works there.
• The average person easily spends money that belongs to the owners of the business he works for, whether it's on taking friends to restaurants, wasted bandwidth, or travel allowances used for personal gain. After all, the company can afford it.
• The average person insures, and claims from insurance quite often, getting nice new stuff out of the deal most of the time. After all, if you don't claim at some stage, what's the point of paying all that money? Insurers are greedy and make enough profit, after all.
• The average person values a career within a large, reputable organisation. After all, he doesn't have to work himself to the bone to earn a good living that way, and being part of a reputable team means that he's reputable, right?
• The average person looks forward to something called "pay-day", because then he can go out and enjoy himself again, without stressing too much about things like food.
  
• The average person outwardly hates working for a boss, but in reality couldn't ever do without guidance. After all, if things go wrong, he shouldn't have to take the fall for a business which doesn't pay him nearly enough.
• The average person doesn't look at the cost of what he's ordering when someone else is paying. After all, the other person is spoiling them, aren't they?
• The average person believes that it's his need for something that determines how much he deserves it, not his ability to earn it.

The average person doesn't understand responsibility. He can't get close to truly speaking or standing for himself, even though he has dreams of doing so, or might even be under the impression that he already does.

I can't think like the average person. With everything I do, with every choice I make, I take full and absolute responsibility. Every time I spend money, I think of the value involved, and adjust my spending accordingly, regardless of whose money it is. When I owe money, I understand that it's absolutely, positively up to me to make sure that it's repaid according to the terms agreed on. When I sell services to clients, I understand that I'm 100% responsible for delivering on time, even though someone I've hired might cause a delay. I have to take the knock, because I committed - that's just the way it works. It's part of the unwritten contract that guides every productive person who has helped to build the great economies of the world.

Responsibility's difficult, most of the time. That's probably why it's missing, most of the time. Luckily, the world as we know it wasn't built by the average man. It was built by people who value responsibility.

I was thinking about writing about some new year's stuff, like everyone else does. Resolutions, and all that stuff. The problem is, I don't really make new year's resolutions - at least, I try not to, because I believe I should be doing whatever I should be all the time.

Sigh. I can't win, however, seeing as business does work according to years, here goes:

More walking, but not less talking. More rock-star attitude, with an understanding that it needs to be backed up by some serious skill on the drums. Better understanding of what drives value in the background, and how to make money by helping our clients make money. Less wasting time doing nothing (OK, that's a personal one). Less manual processes, more automation. Less clients who aren't profitable. A few more clients who get our vision, and a lot more ones who don't need to, because we're selling them commoditized services, enabled by an understanding that it's the best way to make a boat-load of that profit stuff for them and ourselves.

R5 mil? Why not?

Less is good. More is just as good.

I've spent the last two days thinking about how to conceptualise and bring across something that bothers me. Actually, it only bothers me sometimes - the rest of the time it's really quite fascinating. Fascinating not in a "wow, that's amazing" kinda way, but more in a "this is an interesting phenomenon, it makes sense mostly, but sometimes it puzzles me" way. I'm talking about the human propensity to want to interact with others, above all other things.

Back in my first year at varsity, I wrote an essay entitled "The fundamental flaw" (I've since lost it, unfortunately). I believed "the flaw", in essence, to be the human fear of the unknown. Fear of the unknown is what makes darkness scary, what stops most people from becoming entrepreneurs, what makes good horror movies (the ones you never see the monster in), and what in many instances links people up in "relationships". No, I'm not a cynical fool, hear me out…

Consider the concept of being "single":

People don't like being alone. It scares the hell out of them. So much, in fact, that they'll do almost anything to avoid it. They'll "date", they'll go to elaborate lengths to "meet new people", they'll hang around in clubs and bars, they'll ask their friends to make introductions for them, they'll "network". Heck, a lot of the activities they engage in contribute significantly to the economy - a lot of time, money and effort (all proxies for each other) is spent avoiding the "alone" situation. Now I can't change the world in a day, so I won't try to. What I would however like to do is criticise conformity to this machine. I loathe conformity for it's own sake. If you've been reading my stuff for a while, you'll know that. It hacks me off.

Lately, I've been realising more and more that the concept of "dating" just doesn't do it for me. At all. Why? Because it's symptomatic of conformity. Most people have heard that men and women meet, have drinks, eat out, sleep together, live together, and eventually get married and have offspring, so they investigate the process. They'll consciously put in the effort to find and evaluate potential partners, follow along the defined path, and eventually end up in the same position as everyone else before them. Principally, this hacks me off not because I'm not part of this wonderfully natural process (and thus I'm not getting any), but because I hate to see the human spirit limited by unimaginative drudgery. To me, this process just screams "drudgery"… Maybe I am just a cynical bastard, and I'm fully aware that thinking this way makes me some sort of "outcast" in the eyes of society, but I'm sick and tired of conformity for conformity's sake, and I'm sick and tired of being asked "you're such a nice guy, why don't you have a girlfriend?"

No, I don't, OK? I never have. Fundamentally, I don’t want to actively pursue it. At times, instinct has driven me to investigate the "dating" process, but I've always felt disgusted with myself afterwards. It feels crappy interrogating someone else for the sake of finding out whether they offer some degree of "compatibility". It's artificial, and I hate artificiality. The process lacks imagination, which is just stupid. To be honest, most people bore me. If you're reading this, you're probably not one of them, so don't take offense.

I don't mind not having a woman by my side. Sure, I sometimes wonder what it would be like, and it tickles my curiosity, but fundamentally I don't mind being on my own. I'm just not interested in "having a social life", and it felt as if I needed to get that point across. I'm dedicated to a cause of my own. The purpose isn't always totally clear, but I'm getting more confident about it as time passes. As a principle, I'm tickled by people who have causes of their own. By people with intense purpose, by people who have a real dedication to something in their lives - not to "living life" (because that's pretty much a given, as unromantic as it sounds) - but to intensely constructive achievement of some sort. On rare occasions, I encounter these kinds of people.

What am I getting at? Trying to force myself to spend time with women (and actively going out to meet them) because it’s supposed to be natural seems like a complete contradiction. It feels weird, and I've decided to stick by my gut feel and not do things that feel weird. If, by remote chance, I encounter a girl who doesn't bore me, I'll let her know. If I don't, that's just the way things are.

Now you know.

Don’t do it because you need the money.

Don't do it because someone told you to.

Don't do it because the rest of the world does it.

Don't do it because you're worried what people may think.

Don't do it because it's cool.

Don't do it because there's nothing else to do.

Do it, if only, for love.

Yes, I'm back...

Every day, I read a bunch of RSS feeds, mostly from websites of people who:

• Do work I like (usually, they're good web designers)
• Come up with original ideas
• Understand business better than I do
• Are funny, and entertaining
• Are influential

The first 4 points are valid reasons for reading what these guys (and girls) have to say, but the 5th one is not. At a stage, it was all part of a grand scheme to get 100 comments a day on this blog. If I'm commenting on the A-list blogs, and I'm echoing the general industry "thought of the moment", then surely I'll get in there and become one of them, right?

Wrong.

I've recently realised that I don't want 100 comments on an entry, because chances are good that 94 of them will be pointless, and won't add any value whatsoever. And that's the topic of this post:

My friends Charles, Adrian (blog forthcoming he promises us) and I have been discussing the world's neural network situation since Monday, with Charles very validly criticising blogging. This was what we argued about:

The world's information infrastructure (mainly the internet) is starting to become congested. Not up to a point where it's a real problem, but that point is coming.

Up to now, people who had something worthwhile to say (by publishing scientific information, technical knowledge, or valid, substantiated opinions) were clued-up enough to do the publishing they needed to do. They could create a web page, structure it properly, and fill it with worthwhile information. That's why, when we're searching for a solution to a technical problem, we can usually find it within at most the first 2 pages in Google.

With blogs appearing, and going mainstream, EVERYONE is starting to gain access to publishing information. The problem being that what they're publishing doesn't necessarily have any value at all. There's very little point to entries about getting up in the morning, showering and feeling sad because a partner left for work. Sure, it adds value for the individual involved, but not for the global population. Now, with blogs, that information is getting globally published, where it should be private, if only to restrict congestion. Try to see a few years ahead - sure, search technology will increase exponentially, but it can only do so much with a bunch of rubbish to sort through.

Charles aptly described the problem: "Giving everyone a blog is like giving a kid a machine-gun, and telling him to go play."

Thanks to Rich...! for providing the stimulus to actually put this down on screen like I've wanted to.

It feels good. It's something you can't describe to other people, even though they most likely experience it in some or other form in their own lives. It's something you think about when you're in the shower, when you go to sleep, when you drive your car. Damn, it's good!

Which is why I think it's sad that more people don't experience it, and why they don't go out and get it.

I love what I do. Really, I do. Every once in a while, I think about how cool what I have actually is. I get to live in a world of colour, a world in which I have the reins, in which I get to experience the satisfaction of knowing that somewhere, someone is smiling at what I've done.

People don't realise how much I like designing websites. Maybe it's because I don't tell them. Maybe they haven't noticed the little details I love to spend time on, knowing that people won't notice them until they look for them. Maybe it's because people think that designing websites is my job. Jobs are for making money. Not for me.

When most people go out to party on a Saturday night, I sit in front of my PC creating buttons or icons. After I've finished, it takes me a while to fall asleep, because I'm thinking of how I can improve what I've already done. When I'm riding my mountain bike, I think of colour schemes, and how to apply them to draw attention to something specific. I think of how people are affected emotionally by line spacing, italics and margins. I think of how the world is made a better place every single day by individuals who consider what they do with the utmost of care.

Everyone should have the opportunity to love what they do. It's a wonderful thing, something I wouldn't trade for all the money in the world.

I'll show you what I've been loving in the new year, until then, Merry Christmas!

I feel as though I’ve let the blogging world down. I even feel as though I’ve left myself down. I thought it would be really dramatic if I restart posting with a title like “I’ve been busy: …” and list the crazy amount of stuff I’ve been spending crazy hours on. Somehow though, the prospect of making a dramatic entry has become less and less appetising, maybe because I’ve gotten so used to what I’m doing that it doesn’t seem so remarkable anymore. I WILL post something thoughtful and useful in the next while, I just have to get some things out of the way… Things? I’ve been invited to work on my PhD in Bremen, Germany, with a research group including some of the biggest names in the Knowledge Management world, many of them from Harvard (yes, that Harvard). But first, I’ve got to sort the official stuff out, which is what I’m spending substantial time on. In between, I’ve been training people to use SASPAC, finishing off the online version of the package, written some of the most comprehensive CSS and XHTML I’ve ever done, and worked with incredible source photography for a big site I’m doing. The world is spinning, and I love it.

Last Saturday, I went to Stellenbosch to enjoy a braai with my brother, his girlfriend, and some friends.

It was pretty overcast (but not too cold), not really ideal weather to be standing outside in the dark grilling meat, but we felt like it, and Elize had taken a nice fat steak (from her dad’s farm) out of the freezer especially for the occasion. Upon getting out of my car, there was a slight drizzle, and I wanted to get all my stuff into the house quickly. However, the drizzle stopped, and a guy with a large bag came walking past me right then.

Guy: “Good evening sir.”

Martin: “Good evening!”

Guy: “Excuse me for bothering, sir, but I was wondering whether you’d be interested in some of my artwork. I’m trying to put some food on the table for the young ones tonight, and I’ve been walking around in the rain the whole day, without success.”

Martin: “Well, can I have a look at your art?”

Guy: “Certainly, let me take it out for you.”

Martin: “I don’t want it to get wet, so be careful…”

Guy (taking paintings of different sizes out): “Don’t worry sir, a young lady was kind enough to give me this large bag, so it’s OK.”

Martin (looking at the paintings): “Very nice, I especially like this one (see below), the bright colours are quite pretty. How much do you want for it?”

Guy (taking another larger painting out): “You can have that one, and this larger one for R50.”

Martin (impressed by the guy’s enthusiasm): “I’ll tell you what, I’ll give you R60 for just the smaller one.”

Guy: “Thank you very much sir, I really appreciate it.”

Martin: “You’re welcome. Good luck, I hope you sell many more!”

And that’s how I bought this painting:

Now I’m not a collector, art critic, or artist for that matter, but I really liked the vibrancy of the orange - so much that I’ve set it as my background wallpaper.

But that’s not the point. The point is that this guy (FP? I forgot to ask his name), was willing to walk around in the rain all day long just to sell one painting for ZAR50 (about US$6). He had the courage and spirit to not beg (like many poor South Africans do), but to try to sell his creativity. He made me seriously question how I value creativity, and how I charge for it.

If I could afford it, I would’ve given him much more.

Today, I have a dream. In this dream, the world is alive. People share ideas, emotions and experiences, and they do it every second of every minute. The thoughts in my mind create inspiration for another, and this inspiration is drawn from a universal pool of consciousness. This consciousness extends beyond geographical boundaries, enveloping the planet like a soft sheet through which ideas comfort and support those who are tired. This sheet forms a crucial part of society, keeping us from falling into complacency, because it helps us realise that there is so much out there that is still unexplored. It serves as a fabric of collaboration, enabling us to instantly gauge the inherent value of our efforts, by measuring how these efforts can support even just a little part of the human evolution. If we become too focused on the evolution, it gives us a glimpse into the minute details of an individual’s life, and through this glimpse helps us realise that evolution is only an abstract. If our thinking becomes too abstract, it gives us the ability to step back, and remember how our predecessors had to fully commit themselves to something as simple as the hunt. If our thinking becomes too concrete, it reminds us that there is more to living than simply eating.

I see children laughing, and adults smiling at this laughter. Even more importantly, I see adults sharing this laughter with one another, and finding happiness in it. In every mind, I see ideas overflowing, waiting to be caught like precious water droplets in the hot desert sun. I see these droplets coming together to form an ocean of inspiration, and people drinking from this ocean as if nothing else were important.

This is my dream, and this is how I will make it real: By constantly reminding people of the inherent power of the web, of the technologies, however confusing, which can make a real difference in their lives. I will not relent, and I will become stronger through it. More importantly, I will share this strength with the world, even if it does not yet fully understand it. This is my life, and this is how I choose to live it.

You know how you sometimes only learn things when they’re forced on you, even if you’re someone who’s proud of always investigating and exploring ? Understanding often works the same way – you think you understand something until something else makes you realise you don’t.

Today, my car broke down. No big deal, from an outside perspective. The problem is, to me it was a big deal. Me, without a car… No ! What will I do ! How will I get things done ? How will I be the independent self I like being ? How will I drive to Pick ‘n Pay to buy groceries (no, I’m not a big shopper, but I do need my basic food supplies every now and then)?

So I walked to Pick ‘n Pay, because I live in a prime location within about 1 km of just about every kind of shop anyone could ever need. As I strolled down to the superstore (it really has just about everything), I passed through Claremont “town centre”, and walked about 200 metres down Main Road. On my way, I passed the Friday afternoon crowd of commuters (mostly shopworkers I suppose), climbing in and out of minibus-taxis, on their way home. There were MANY of them. And then it hit me…

Most of these people have never even driven a car, nevertheless owned one. Sadly, most of them never will. They’re just not part of an economic class which has such luxuries as an option. To them, food and shelter for them and their families is much more important than superior German (or Italian) engineering. And, you know what, it doesn’t matter to them as humans.

I felt ashamed. I have a little bit of inconvenience with my almost-perfectly-cared-for classic Mercedes, and the world ends. Why ? Because I got used to it. I have a state-of-the-art (at least it was in 1997 mountain bike which is more transport than many people will ever have. I live within 150 metres of an award-winning shopping mall. We have offices in a very cushy office block, with state-of-the-art (even for 2004) IT infrastructure at our disposal. I don’t have a car for the weekend, but I have CAPACITY, something I should be very thankful for.

So, whenever I design a corporate identity, or help someone make sense of navigation and megabytes of content, I’ll try to keep the above in mind. I’ll try my best to add enough value for someone to get (or keep) a job, so that they can reach towards the kind of life I often take for granted. It’s my responsibility, because I can.